Author Note: Hello everyone! We're back with the next chapter! Little bit of overlap in the beginning, but it's basically picking up where the last bit of chapter 11 left off... but with Bellamy's POV. There will be a POV switch later in the chapter and a "Dreamscape" portion clearly marked "Dreamscape" with a line break.
Look at that chapter title... Betrayed. Hm, wonder what's going to happen. Title is both relevant to the plot (duh) and the dreamscape scene, so keep your eyes open for that tidbit. Otherwise, the inspiration for the title comes from Avenged Sevenfold's song off their City of Evil album.
As always, feel free to drop a review/follow/favorite/PM as you see fit! I love to know what you guys are thinking. :)
Enjoy!
Chapter 12: Betrayed
Bellamy POV:
There were two reasons that I offered to take first watch that night: One was for the pure reason that I had too much adrenaline in me to even attempt a nap. The second was due in part to the blonde who lay in the tent right now.
I wasn't trying to push her buttons. Really, I wasn't! There was a time and place for that kind of stuff but now clearly was neither to intentionally pick a fight.
Or maybe deep down in my unconscious mind, I pushed her buttons to get a reaction out of her… just something. Anything!
I could still feel the area where my chest burned from her almost electrifying pushes, even after hours later. Part of me was surely mad that she was shutting me out, after everything, and especially after our rather intimate times at Raven's Inn. Those sweet, sweet kisses. What I wouldn't give to do that now…
But no. She needed space. And that's just what had to happen. Far be it from me to change Clarke Griffin's too-stubborn-probably-for-her-own-good mind.
I looked to the tent that held the currently sleeping woman. Her back was turned toward me, but her shirt was beginning to ride up, giving me a new view of her back, her bra just barely peeking out from under the offending article of clothing. It was a teasing sight to behold. How dare she.
Suddenly, I heard a rustling in the brush just up ahead, near the tent. The sound came and went as if it was done by accident; a predator slipping up.
It was a noise that I was not meant to hear.
As if the predator could read my mind, a loud thud and sharp sting against the base of my neck brought me to the ground. I was dazed as I tried to flip the hair out of my eyes.
"CLARKE!" I yelled as a foot pushed into my spine.
More attackers came out surrounding our camp. The rustling was no accident; it was intentional – a test – to see if I would take the bait, and I fell right for the blasted trap.
These men were too versatile and comfortable in their surroundings to be Arkadian. Plus, the four or five of them didn't appear to be using guns. These were Grounders and they did not seem to think we came in peace.
Before I could tell Clarke to get out of here and run, I felt myself unable to speak as my world went black. The last scene before me was Clarke's blue eyes shining with terror as she reached for her pocket knife.
Dreamscape:
I was tired from work and all I wanted to do was go home and crash for the rest of the day. And the next day. Luckily, I had switched a shift with someone, so now I had both tomorrow and the next day off. A real weekend! Even though it was the middle of the week.
I was already prepping my mind for the wonderous sleep it deserved only hoping that Octavia and Mom were out and about. Mom would most likely still be at work herself, but there was no telling if Octavia would still be in school for the day or home.
The walk home was generally pleasant as I passed houses and buildings, seeing people and Progressives preparing dinner or doing chores. I turned from the houses and set my sights on the path of the standard and small dwelling I called home. Much like many other Arkadians, my mother decided to move us into one of the small housing units on the ground as opposed to on the Ark. Due to the still-new policy that families could have more than one child, our house was only a two-bedroom with a small study. When Octavia was little, the study was her designated room because who needed a desk? I loved history and always did well in school, but never cared to do any homework on an actual desk choosing a small tray and the comforts of bed instead. In short, we had the space. When Octavia got a little bit older and into her teen years, she plead her case that she needed more space "for sleepovers and stuff!" she had argued vehemently. So, being the amazing and selfless big brother that I am, I let her switch rooms with me – I wasn't using most of the space anyway.
While my room was small, I was excited to get back to it and sweet, sweet sleep.
Upon rounding the last corner to home, I was surprised to see a slender figure sitting on the porch. "Clarke?" I asked. "Where's O?" I wondered with a more worried tone.
"She's probably just in class still," she said in a small voice, head down. And did I hear a sniffle?
"Hey… are you, uh, crying?" I asked stupidly. Dumbass Blake… of course she is!
She laughed at me curtly and looked to me with red-rimmed eyes. "No, Dummy. Just admiring the beautiful day. Clearly."
"Clearly," I repeated back in a joking tone, trying to lighten the sour mood. Never in my life had I seen this woman cry before and I was concerned for the circumstances.
However, I knew trying to pry information from her would only result in her pulling away from me. Our 'friendship' was hardly a friendship at all, but I knew enough about Clarke Griffin to know some now-trademark mannerisms. I would let Octavia handle this one, no matter how curious I was. "Wanna… come inside? Get a snack before O gets here? You can wait in her room or chill in the living room if you want."
She numbly nodded her head and stood from her spot on wobbly legs. She must have been here for a while.
"You want anything to eat or drink?" I asked her while she took up residence at my kitchen's island.
"Just water, thank you," she said.
We both knew that she knew where all the dishes were, per our study time rehearsing Julius Caesar and then her continuing friendship with Octavia. Yet I felt a strange urge to provide for the woman who sat before me, despite my aching joints.
I took my time getting her water, trying to fill the silence without actually speaking.
After handing he the cup of water with a polite smile, I did small things around the kitchen, like putting away the small amount of clean dishes into the cupboard or taking a wet rag to some of the dusty counters and appliances. I would make my exit when she did, and she had not given any indication to doing so.
"Broke up with Finn today," she said out of nowhere, breaking the tense silence that had been building. "I should feel great, but I just feel like shit right now," she admitted. "It's stupid, I know."
"No… it's not stupid. It's normal," I tried to reassure, taking a seat right next to her and giving Clarke my full attention.
"Turns out…" she breathed in and out shakily, looking at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. "Finn was cheating on me. Don't know for how long, didn't care enough to stick around."
Wow. I was at a loss for words. It wasn't any secret that I wasn't fond of Finn Collins and I usually made that a point of topic whenever Clarke brought up her boyfriend. Between us, it was just good-natured fun. But now, my hatred for him nearly exceeded its limits. Just as Octavia had been accepted into the Griffin household, Clarke became an extension of the Blakes.
Needless to say, I was ready to punch a certain long-haired brunette of the male species. Stupid motherfucker.
"Yeah, he is," Clarke chuckled humorously. I hadn't realized I had said what I did out loud in my thoughts of anger. "It's just… and I'm not looking for any validation here," she paused, pursing her lips in concentration. If I stared at them for too long, she gave no mention of it. What was that, Blake?
She picked back up her thought and two tears fell down her cheeks. My heart broke for her. "It feels like I'm not enough. I tried to give him everything, except, well… yeah," she mumbled the last part as her cheeks got red. I understood immediately and felt my cheeks go hot at the admission despite my best efforts to push it to the back of my mind. "And if he did this to me, who's to say that someone else won't… like I'll never be enough."
Clarke let out a pent-up sob and I couldn't resist bringing her to my chest in a near bone-crushing hug. I tried to cradle her head as best as I could as I felt thick droplets of tears soak onto my neck. I tried my very best to comfort the poor girl whose spirit seemed shattered. She continued to cry while letting out a sob every now and then. Meanwhile, I slid my hands across her back and up and down her arms, trying to lightly massage the tense muscles beneath.
A few minutes had passed when her tears fell less frequently and her sobs turned into hiccups.
"You are enough Clarke," I stated just above a whisper. I wasn't even sure if she heard my admission. I felt another few tears drop onto my skin. "And if Finn Collins couldn't see that, then he is a fool who doesn't even deserve to be in your presence. "You are royalty after all, Princess," I ended with.
I felt her chuckle against my skin as her hands began to let go of my now-wrinkled shirt. "You're weirdly good at this," she stated matter-of-fact.
"Well yeah," I replied back. I've had to comfort Octavia who found herself in similar situations.
She fully pulled away from me now, looking significantly better, although her eyes and nose were still red-rimmed. Nevertheless, the blonde in front of me remained beautiful as ever.
And I, unfortunately, was falling for her. I had been for a while now, ever since the first time she came over to run lines as Pindarus and Cassius in the final act. Even during the duration of my relationship with Gina, Clarke's well-being remained at the back of my head.
She was just in my thoughts. Constantly! I often found myself wanting to ask Octavia if Clarke was coming over for dinner that day. Or hoping that she would spend the night just to get the chance to see her in the morning.
"I would hate to ruin your 'lady killer' reputation if someone saw this," she gestured between us, a small smirk playing at her lips. I hadn't even known these rumors of my sleeping around was still a thing. However, I knew of one person who had seen us together: my mother, who sat outside now. She looked into the window before walking into the house some minutes ago and had waited patiently since, not wanting to disturb the moment, all the while being present for it.
"Well then I guess we'll just keep this a secret between us," I said looking into her thoughtful eyes, a new twinkle in them that I hadn't seen before. I wondered if she would ever see herself the way I did.
"I suppose so," she sassed. Clarke was back. She gave me one last hug, burying her face into the crook of my neck, her arms circling around my midsection. I wrapped my arms around her once more, gentler this time – not out of sheer desperation. "Thank you," she said simply with one final tear that ran its course down to my chest.
I woke to the all-too familiar wet tears dripping down my neck and chest. However, this time I was not presented with the warmth of home and the tears of heart break. Not to mention, my head felt fuzzy as if making its way through dense fog as I tried to gain all my senses back.
Scent: the musty air from wherever I was, yet faintly lavender. Or was it vanilla?
Touch: the cold ground pressed against my back. Sturdy. Cement to be sure. Wet. Generally unpleasant. Yet… warm hands were running across my chest and down my stomach. Not so unpleasant.
Taste: cotton-mouth, at best. Chapped, although how does a whole mouth feel chapped? And the air was humid, so much so that I felt I could taste it in my throat.
Sound: "Bellamy, please wake up," a teary voice plead. She was distraught. Clarke. My Clarke. "Not like this, Bell. Not. Like. This."
"Don't be crying over me and ruining my rep. now," I tried to say halfheartedly although it came out more of a croak.
Sight: there was hardly a lick of light in the room we were occupying. Whatever light there was was compromised of torches on the other side of thick steel bars. But in front of me, in my direct line of sight, sat a teary-eyed Clarke Griffin. Her hair was sticking up in all ends, dirt and blood giving her blonde tresses a new character. Her face was caked in a sheen coat of sweat, donning a slight cut against her cheek and upper lip. Beautiful.
Clarke POV:
"You stupid fool," I cried to the bleary-eyed man on the ground, as I cradled his cold cheeks, feeling some warmth come back to them. "You fucking idiot," I muttered this time around, looking at the man that lay before me. He was just so still… cold…
I thought you were dead, I wanted to say, yell, scream, and whisper all at once.
"Wow, that's harsh to wake up to," Bellamy groaned, trying to sit up.
I placed a reassuring hand to his back to combat his struggling from sitting up. "Take it easy," my voice cut through the silence once more.
When we pulled him up into a sitting position, we simply looked at each other, an unspoken conversation I was unsure of. His hand reached up and grazed the side of my hair, coming back with traces of dirt, leaves, and dried blood on his palm. The place where the Grounders knocked me upside the head was slightly tender but there didn't seem to be an cranial damage or otherwise signs of traumatic brain injury.
Bellamy gently moved his hand to then gently trace the pulsing cut that ran along my cheek. Hopefully, it wouldn't scar. Stupid guards.
We had the same thought then as we came together for a crushing hug – a primal urge brought about by our meek survival. "I thought you were dead," I chose to whispered into his chest.
He only pulled me further into his lap, as if we could possibly get any closer and held me tighter. Neither of us argued; we both needed the comfort, appropriateness aside.
For several moments, we just sat like that, wrapped in each other much like several days ago at Raven's Inn, trading the soft bed for the dank, wet cement. The warmth in my heart remained.
"Clarke…?" Bellamy asked after some time. "Did they hurt you?"
Stupid Bellamy all bent out of shape about the wrong things. I almost laughed at myself. "Your worry is horribly misplaced," I stuttered with a sheepish grin.
"It's not though," he said seriously.
"It's… nothing I couldn't handle. Just a little headache is all," I tried to reassure.
"And this?" he asked as his hand ghosted over the tender mark against the side of my cheek.
I shied away from his grasp ever so slightly and watched as he furrowed his brow. "Awhile ago, while you were still…out of it, some guards came in with water. When I asked where we were or what their plans with us were, they didn't answer because of course, right? So, I tried to grab one of them, and he hit me across the face. It doesn't really hurt though, could've been worse."
"Do you think we made it? To Polis?" Bellamy asked, a bit of hope in his eyes.
I sighed. I had been trying to figure this out as well. "I'm not sure. These Grounders look like Trikru from what I've seen, but there could've been two or three more villages before we got to Polis."
Bellamy started looking around frantically. When an animal becomes trapped in a cage, they are sure to try their damn hardest to look for an escape, no matter how unattainable. He sighed loudly. "So I guess we wait."
"Guess so," I breathed out, scooting myself against the wall of the cellar. I closed my eyes for a few minutes as I heard Bellamy patter about the small cell, most likely searching for a way out. I didn't have it in me to tell him that I already checked every block of cement, every crack in the wall, and every steel bar for weaknesses. Nothing.
Some short time later, he huffed a sigh and begrudgingly sat down next to me, the warmth of his shoulder just barely dimming the all-consuming cold I had been feeling.
Turns out, we needn't wait much longer before several armed guards unlocked the door and came into the room – more than before. "Don't try anything," one of them said in a heavily-accented voice and functional English. I recognized him as the man who had struck me earlier as we gave each other side-long glares. "Get up," he said to the both of us.
I thought about fighting them for a brief moment, but even with Bellamy by my side, we were horribly outnumbered. He must've thought the same.
Our wrists were tied painfully tight and our mouths gagged with a cloth I didn't want to know the origins of. After the guards' handy-dandy work, we were being pulled by chains from the cell.
Through hallways, corridors, and up staircases – many staircases – and even more hallways, my budding anxiety grew. My guess was that we were being taken to the clan's leader, if the increasing number of security detail was anything to go by.
With each passing step, I felt myself inching closer to Bellamy, seeking some kind of comfort or reassurance. I wanted to grab his hand but feared that it would raise suspicion and distrust. We couldn't have that, not now. We held each other's pinkies, barely a grasp and hardly able to put weight on the tentative connection.
As we walked through an opulent yet seemingly modest double door, I put forth as much strength as I could muster, as I now squeezed Bellamy's pinky finger in my own.
The throne room itself was rather elegant, yet held its deadly appeal that came with Grounder clan décor. I wasn't given much time to gaze about the room before I was being shoved to the floor, on my knees. "Bow before your Heda," one of the guards seethed.
Heda… Commander! That meant…
I looked over to Bellamy, simultaneous hope and fear in my eyes.
Polis. We were really here. But something was desperately wrong. If Anya had done her part, then we wouldn't have been thrown into a jail cell.
The guard spoke a few words in his native tongue to the Commander, as I brought my head away from looking at Bellamy.
I wasn't surprised to see that the Commander was, in fact, a woman – because women were bad asses too – but I was surprised to see just how young she was. She was no older than Bellamy's age with nearly striking features. Her brunette locks were done-up in many different intricate braids that were carefully brushed away from her tanned face. She wore appropriate amour and looked battle-ready what with the menacing sword hilted to her waist. Her hand rested atop it comfortably. Her face was covered in a mask of war paint that set her apart from any other Grounder I had seen prior; this was her crown and she was clearly in charge.
She cocked her head curiously at us, seemingly ignoring her guard. Her expression was heavily guarded and unreadable. "Why have clansman from Skaikru come so far? Surely we are outside of your… humble jurisdiction," she said in a booming voice.
"We do not come here as Arka – Skaikru," Bellamy said confidently from beside me, the malice in his voice barely being constrained.
"So it is asylum you seek then?" she asked.
"No, we do not," I stated this time.
At this, she almost seemed surprised. Almost. "Then why have you come?"
No. No, no, no, no! The Commander gave no indication that she knew who we were or our mission. Anya didn't follow through with the plan. Bitch. I tried not to look crestfallen. Our plan had failed and I was too stupid to come up with a backup, not that being ambushed really helped matters either.
"We've come to offer peace," I said confidently, winging it.
"Peace, you say? Attacks, massacres, dishonorable battle, thievery, rape, killing clan leaders –"
"But Princess Anya is alive!" I yelled while fully standing. Quick as lightning, the Commander produced a small knife and brought it to my neck. I felt a slight trickle of blood begin to run down the curve of my neck, and watched as Bellamy squirmed from the ground. I tried to ignore both as I stared down the Commander.
"Princess Anya kom Trikru was murdered at the hands of YOUR traitorous people after trying to make peace with Skaikru nearly a decade ago." She shook her head disbelievingly although no emotion was on her face, neutral as ever. "I should kill you right now." She paused. I held my ground.
She withdrew and languidly sauntered back to her thrown, sitting down and crossing her legs casually. "You will both answer on behalf of your people's crimes against my clans. For such heinous acts, your punishment will be see fit." Another pause as she looked directly at me. "Death by hanging. At dawn."
The guards stood us back up. My body felt numb as I was being hauled up, just barely able to see Bellamy struggling and trying to get out of the guards' firm grasps. "This isn't right! You can't do this!" he yelled.
"And it was not right when Skaikru MURDERED colonies of my people. Men, women, children, warriors, homemakers, merchants simply trying to make a living, and artists alike," she yelled back to Bellamy. She then looked me directly in the eye, while I tried to remain strong, although I was sure all the color had drained from my face. "Jus drein jus daun – Blood must have blood… You seem like a competent enough person, I hope you understand. You have until dawn… I suggest you say your goodbyes. Take this small bit of mercy of knowing your time of death and do what you may until then."
All the way back to the cell, Bellamy struggled against his security, having to have five guards carrying him by the time we reached the familiar corridors that lead to the cellars. Our last place of living. "Bellamy!" I yelled. The two guards escorting me gripped my arms tighter, but I made no move to break free. "Just give up Bell. It's over – we failed," I confessed aloud, one rogue tear slipping down my cheek as I realized the gravity of our failure.
Exit light, Enter Lexa, amirite? I feel like she's being pretty reasonable here, so props to her. But yikes for Clarke and Bellamy. And gosh dang it, I wonder what happened to Anya... Hm. Guess all shall be revealed shortly! Definitely one of my favorite chapters to write so far. Stay tuned and keep it classy!
